She slipped   
 of light surrounded   
 between stone and metal  
 from the rough window.      
 
 Home crack   
 joined thought   
 the rose abhors   
 stage exit.      
 
 She entered   
 of the universe    
 in the appendix   
 with a soft touch.      
 
 She is a trait of Breath   
 widening   
 tearless   
 on the feminine of the flame.      
 
 Transparent   
 sleeping doe   
 she hatches  
 she disposes.
 

   
  505

 sleeping Messalina   
 within the symphonies   
 the ivy muse adorned with make-up   
 enucleates the gray face of boredom.  
    
 To the sound of cymbals and olifants   
 the knight of Trencavel   
 light up with a fiery sword   
 the pack that devours him.  
    
 Here no lantern   
 point of carabistouilles   
 according to passion   
 just some inaugural oracle.  
          
 Stay the little man   
 to callunes subject   
 loved by the gods  
 with immense tenderness   
 destined to take flight.   
   
 Little man   
 little woman   
 turn the clock   
 dangling their truths   
 social and planetary   
 in the shadow of a life of exile.  
    
 In this inextricable web   
 bruises come to term   
 nothing to say   
 apart from the silence.     

    ( Ceramics by Martine Cuenat ) 

  504

   At the edge of the forest   
 life   
 the helping life   
 life as an offering   
 life full of friendships   
 the life that weaves its way and that nothing stops      
 A square of greenery   
 where to step   
 such a fragile indentation   
 than the look itself   
 draw the curves of the future      
 A puddle of water      
 To have walked   
 ahead   
 towards the night   
 release hope   
 of his convenience      
 There remains a furrow of light   
 where a gap   
 choir   
 without backtracking   
 without bone of contention   
 a horn of tenderness in the heart.  

    
  503
   (sculpture by Martine Cuenat) 

 The dog was running   
 sur le chemin  des bergères 
 entre les fougères accoutumées.    
 
 Navré de devoir frapper   
 such a handsome man   
 at the carotid.  
    
 mom in front   
 had moved away   
 en simulation d'être pressée de rentrer.

 The rain was stinging   
 and pricked the face   
 une brume nous recouvrait.      
 
 The tide was rising   
 we could hear the surf   
 frapper les dalles de granite. 
     
 The pier was deserted   
 a sailor in his small boat   
 sculled firm   
 you will see a charge   
 ancré entre les jetées du port.  

       ( painting by GJCG )
  
502